


Waking

by elfinmouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfinmouse/pseuds/elfinmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was waking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to the prompt: "Any, any undead character, forgetting that he/she doesn’t need to breath/eat/sleep/ect" nevcolliel left on the LJ commentfic comm on Feb. 20, 2012

He was waking up.

Sound came to him first, the rumble of male voices slowly focusing into words and sentences. 

“Of course we’re not going to ignore these omens, but we can’t just leave in the middle of a hunt like this Cas.” “A simple haunting does not take priority over…” 

Between the voices, somewhere in the background a fuzzy, cracking TV was advertising shampoo.

Sight came more slowly. A pinprick gradually expanding into a blur of smudged colors and shapes. 

“…can’t leave a job half finished.” Thumping footsteps matched the progress of a man-shaped smear of denim-blue and green. “Perhaps you need to resort your priorities.” No movement followed the voice, but it sounded impossibly close. Whispering in his ears and vibrating down his spine. “It should only take us a couple hours to…” 

The last voice came from behind him and his head turned toward a very tall man folded into a chair at a small table. He barely noticed as his vision focused enough to see the mess of papers spread out before him, because he _hadn’t moved his head._ The voices continued on and he could clearly see two men talking to him and the peeling hotel wallpaper behind them, but he wasn’t talking back even though he could hear his own voice responding. 

But it wasn’t his voice.

He tried to lift his arm to reach for the sound and realized he could barely feel it. Sensation muffled - like the touch of a hand over a shirt compared to the touch of a hand on bare skin, only from the inside. Grasping what feeling he could, he realized not all of the sensations he was feeling were from his body, something was touching him, curling around him in a place nothing else ever had before.

Panicking now, he threw himself toward the feeling of cloth brushing against skin as he moved through the hotel. Wild moments of trying to lift his hands, stop his feet from walking, scream with vocal cords already occupied with details of demonic rituals was followed by horrified stillness. 

The words his body was speaking weren’t propelled by air, but a strange electric tingling around his throat. His chest was not rising and falling beneath the loose fabric of his suit.

_He wasn’t breathing._

Something that wasn’t flesh began to bruise as he flailed against the ropes of light cradling him, screaming with something that wasn’t a voice. Behind him, before him, above him and below him the alien awareness manipulating his body startled toward him. A many eyed, many limbed ocean of everything and nothing turning to look at him.

If his lungs were his own his breath would be panting out in terrified gasps.

The bands around him flexed, tightened. He didn’t look, too scared that they would be the fingers of a hand; even more scared that they wouldn’t be. Sound and sight washed away in a rush like ocean surf, dragging him backwards and down; not into darkness, but light.

 _Sleep Jimmy Novak._ Castiel murmured in a voice like stars colliding.

He slept.


End file.
